The Red String of Fate
by puffii
Summary: The red string scene in 3x15 with my own spin to it. Read and find out (because I suck at summaries xP)


The Red String of Fate (Stydia Fanfiction)

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! This is me, Gwen, that thirteen-year-old girl who writes Stydia shit because I just love them. Anyways, I decided to do this little fluff-ish one-shot for them. This is the red string scene during 3x15. I really loved that scene and I'm adding my own spin to it. Most of it is canon but some isn't. As I have said above, I am a thirteen-year-old girl so don't expect my grammar to be the perfectest. Whoops, sorry, _most perfect._ (insert laughing emoji) Anyways I hope you guys enjoy this story and that you'll review and favorite.

They were in Stiles' bedroom, trying to figure out what the hell was going on in their town right now, and more importantly, in which part of Beacon Hills had the crazy, homicidal, _fireflies-coming-out-of-his-tumor_ William Barrow run off to.

Stiles was working on his "detective board" as Lydia liked to call it, observing it and putting threads of red all over the place and holding them still with Scotch tape. Lydia was on her stomach in his bed, twirling with the thread from the red yarn, watching the back of Stiles as he worked and worked.

There were yarns of other colors—blue, green, yellow—that were sitting on Stiles' bed with her. She frowned. "What do these different colored strings mean?" she questioned, fisting her hands and placing her head on them.

Stiles looked over his shoulder and glanced at Lydia for a quick second before his eyes moved to the yarns seated beside her. "Uh, just different stages of the investigation," he replied as he went back to working on tacking the red strings on the board. When Lydia didn't reply, he continued, "So, like, green is solved. Yellow is to be determined and blue..." He turned around and shrugged. "It's just pretty."

Lydia found herself smiling inwardly at his shrug. She looked down at the small red string wrapped around her index finger, then looked up at Stiles' detective board. She frowned once again. "What is red for?"

"Unsolved," Stiles replied after a few moments.

"You only have red on the board."

Stiles whipped around to glare at her. He put his fists on sides of his hip. "Yes, I am aware, thank you."

Lydia wanted to smile again at his sarcasm at the most inappropriate times. Take, for example, now. They were trying to find a bomb-setting killer maniac and Lydia just wanted to laugh at Stiles' comment. So instead, she bit back her smile and tried to focus on the events that had happened today. She remembered standing in front of Stiles, who was standing in front of the fire alarm that he pulled as the students rushed past them and filed out of the high school. She remembered feeling her eyes go wide at the sight of Coach right beside Stiles, who was angrily staring at Stiles as he let out a _We-made-it_ laugh.

Stiles, of course, had stopped laughing when he saw her eyes travel beside him. He'd slowly turned around, expecting to see a psycho werewolf or William Barrow even, but the sight was worse. It had been Coach. And Coach pulled Stiles out of the school by his ear and Lydia followed them out.

She glanced down at her string once again. It was wrapped tightly around her finger and the tip was becoming bluer and bluer. She unraveled it and then wrapped it around again, this time a little more tightly. "Did you get detention for pulling the alarm?"

Stiles sighed. "Yep. Every day of the week. It's okay, though, we were onto something." He put the green marker he was holding on his lips. He was looking around the room now, but Lydia wasn't worried about that.

"Even though we couldn't find any proof of Barrow being there?" She did the same act as before with the string as she thought about this morning. She was _so sure_ that Barrow had been there. She had heard that buzzing. She had _felt_ it.

Lydia found herself sighing. Peter had bitten her, activated these banshee abilities—where she could hear things and feel things and worse: predict someone's death—and no one in the McCall Pack knew how to help her learn or get better. If the job description of the banshee was to predict someone's death, then why, _why,_ why did Lydia always find that someone _after_ they were dead?

Movements and the shuffling of feet brought Lydia out of her reverie. The next thing she knew, Stiles was knelt down in front of her and staring deeply into her eyes. "Hey, Lydia... you've been right every time something like this has happened." He looked down at her fingers and Lydia could see him gulp. Was he feeling nervous? "So don't start doubting yourself now." He looked back up at her and her heart skipped a beat.

"No scent," she found herself saying. "No bomb." She shook her head slightly as tears start to well up in her eyes. Stiles fiddled with his marker. Her fingers were still playing with the string, and in the corner of her eye, she saw Stiles looking at them worriedly. "And I got you in trouble." She didn't notice that her voice had softened down to a whisper. "I'm sorry." And she meant it.

It was Stiles' turn to shake his head. "No, okay, look," he murmured as his fingers moved swiftly to hers and when they touched, Lydia gasped softly. Stiles didn't seem to notice as his deft fingers took the red string from her and slowly started to unravel them, just like she had done before, but in a much careful and loving way. "Barrow... was there, right? You know it, you felt it." The string was unraveling slowly and Lydia could feel the warmth coming back to her fingertip, the blue gradually returning to her normal color.

Lydia wanted to say something, but she couldn't. _What if he wasn't there? What if he never was? What if I'm just a psychic nut-job who doesn't know anything for shit? Who's just as useless now as she was before this all started?_ she wanted to ask Stiles, but the words never left her mouth. They just stayed on her tongue. So she stayed silent.

Stiles took this as a sign to go on, with whatever he had left to say. "Look, if you wanted to..." He had finished removing the string from her. He tossed it at the balls of yarn beside Lydia. "I would go back to school and search all night just to prove it."

His words caught her off-guard. Her eyes fluttered to his and they met, staring into each other. It was then that she realized. That Stiles didn't believe that she was crazy, like all of the people who left her did. That Stiles would protect her from anything and anyone. That Stiles _cared_ for her. Hell, he cared for her since the third _freaking_ grade. Lydia wondered why she had never noticed this loving, spastic—but in a good way—boy back before. The boy who didn't see her as just a pretty, popular basic bitch but as a person. As _her._ She'd just thought that it was just a schoolboy crush that every boy had on her, and it might have been true for last year, but this year, Stiles had changed. Not just the way he looked, but he was sturdier, more mature, and as selfless as ever. And now she noticed that his schoolboy crush has changed too. He'd stopped talking to her whenever he got the chance and he never fidgeted around her anymore, which had made her relieved, of course.

But now, as her heart beat crazy, she realized she might have developed her own crush on Stiles. The times they had spent together, helping each other, leaning on each other... Lydia felt... safe. And ever since that kiss they had shared that she thought was totally platonic, she started to doubt herself about that these past few days.

Lydia realized they were both still staring at each other, faces just inches apart. Her breath hitched and she was pretty sure Stiles' did too. Her eyes suddenly started exploring his face. His honey-brown eyes, she realized, had green specks in them, that only a person of close range to Stiles could see. Moles splayed all over his face and down his neck. His hair was always messy and Lydia wondered what it would feel like to run her hand through it. And those lips. Ever since their kiss, she had craved those lips. Thinking about it sent a tingle down her spine.

Slowly, her hand reached up to touch one of his moles. As soon as one of her fingers lightly touched his face, Lydia felt Stiles sigh. He was still looking at her. Her hand fully cupped his face and her heart leapt with joy when she felt Stiles leaning into it. And even more joy when he cracked the tiniest of a smile, which made her smile.

Both of them craned their necks forward as the inches that separated them became centimeters and then millimeters, until Lydia closed the gap between them.

It felt nothing like their first time, where Lydia was so worried that Stiles' panic attack wouldn't stop and she did the first thing she had in mind without even considering it—and she didn't get to savor the feeling. But now she did and she enjoyed it. Every single second of their lips connected. The kiss was soft and sweet, but there was something of want and desire in it, too.

Stiles shifted so that he could kiss her at a different angle, and she let him. Her other hand went up to the other side of his face while the other moved from his face to his hair, running through it. _So this is what it feels like,_ Lydia thought as she felt the smoothness of his hair. Stiles' hands also went up to cup her face and in that moment, Lydia felt whole.

Thoughts of being a banshee, of William Barrow, of werewolves and alphas and werecoyotes, they vanished as she and Stiles kissed.

When they finally pulled away, Lydia had to try her best to not pull him back for another kiss. Even though it was a gentle kiss, they were both out of breath.

Stiles was the first one to speak. "Why did you do that?" He repeated the same question from a week ago.

Lydia smiled. She was not going to say that it was because of something she read somewhere. That she just wanted to help. She was going to say the right thing. "I wanted to."

Stiles was silent for a moment and Lydia worried that she had said the wrong thing. Then a grin appeared on his face as he said, "Well, it was amazing."

Lydia laughed. "And also because I wanted to thank you... for being there for me all the time." She bit her lip as she looked at him. "I really like you, Stiles."

"I really like you too," Stiles smiled. "And does that mean that you'll kiss me every time you want to thank me?"

Lydia burst into a fit of giggles. "Of course." Then, Stiles pulled her in for another kiss and well... It might have been the happiest moment of her life.


End file.
